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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573382">Corner Store</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars'>windandthestars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Newsroom (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Post-Series, quarantine fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:14:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just to the corner shop. For a snack.” He’d suggested, but she’d only stared at him, blinking, and so he’d sighed and said he’d go with her but they’d couldn’t be gone long.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will McAvoy/MacKenzie McHale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Corner Store</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Another short quarantine story. Set post-series, current day (ish), refers to some pre-series events but no real spoilers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a series of things— it’s the middle of the night, his daughter is upstairs alone, asleep, and he is none of those things standing in the chilly spring air— that’s pushed from his mind by the feeling of Mac’s fingers tight, too tight, around his.</p><p>She’s been agitated. He’d known it would be hard for her, kept away from the office, locked away in their apartment, but it’d been a rougher weekend than he’d expected, so he’d suggested she take a walk. He’d known she wouldn’t go far, not at this time of night, especially not now, but he hadn’t expected that she’d refuse to go alone.</p><p>“Just to the corner shop. For a snack.” He’d suggested, but she’d only stared at him, blinking, and so he’d sighed and said he’d go with her but they’d couldn’t be gone long, and Mac had shrugged, wound her fingers between his and all but dragged him along like she was wont to do, but then her grip had shifted, her fingers crushing his now as they pause at the corner of an empty street before crossing.</p><p>“Mac?” It’s a quiet query, but she shifts uncomfortable with the sound of his voice in what he has to admit is an eerie silence. </p><p>The neighborhood was normally sedate, slumbering as it usually was at this time of night, but there were almost always signs of life, lights on in windows, shadows of people sleeping on benches, pigeons, the occasional rat he pretended not to see, but tonight it was just the two of them, Mac yanking on his arm without warning as she steps up onto the curb and then releases him, disappearing into the corner store, the top of her head visible as she weaves her way through the aisles.</p><p>She returns a moment later with a plastic bag, the handles bunched in her fist, frowning, shifting away when he reaches to lay a hand on her arm. </p><p>She’s been telling him for weeks to be more careful, but it felt impossible to be close, so close, but not close enough. “I can hold your hand and wash both of mine when we get back. First thing.” He promises when she continues to frown at him.</p><p>She sighs, shifts closer and then steps forward, reaching back to tug on his hand when he doesn’t immediately follow.</p><p>The trip back to their building is short, Mac always half a step in front of him regardless of how quickly he walks. She doesn’t stop for the doorman, doesn’t smile or nod. The elevator’s waiting in the lobby so she doesn’t stop until he’s inside, jabbing the button for their floor as her agitated steps slow.</p><p>“It’s too—” she makes a frustrated sound as the elevator shifts underfoot, rising. </p><p>“Empty.” He suggests trying to help her out but she only frowns at that, at the way he keeps talking. “It’s the middle of the night.”</p><p>“I keep,” she starts and then stops as the elevator shudders and the door open. “I keep,” she starts again as she bumps against him, both of them sharing the sink in the kitchen, the faucet running as he reaches to turn it off, as she fumbles for the towel to dry her hands. “Expecting everything to be covered in— you’d expected it to be like ash,” she sighs and shakes her head as he wonders if she’s thinking of a long ago fall day or, he realizes with a jolt, something else entirely, “the rapport, it’s such a sharp sound.” She shakes her head again, harder this time, “tall buildings, empty rooftops.”</p><p>“Empty streets.” He infers and she glances over at him, grateful he isn’t asking her to explain.</p><p>It’s been years since any of that had come up, the unsettling ways her time overseas could occasionally tip her view of the world upside down. He’d stopped expecting it, in the same way he’d stopped expecting so many other things, an empty bed, a decent halftime show, but she hadn’t. He never expected the memories to find her here, tucked away like the three of them were in the apartment they somehow never managed to get around to selling, but she’d known they were lurking long before he suggested she get some air.</p><p>She’d been leery, he realizes watching her smooth the towel over the handle on the drawer beside her, the faded red fabric another reminder of the time they had passed together. It’s been years since they’d bought the towels, tired of digging through boxes, unpacking and repacking as the renovation on the apartment had gotten underway. It’d been years since then, the towels had faded but other things hadn’t: his love for her, the joy the sight of her still brought him, the buried turmoil that had first prompted her to casually mention that she now slept with a night light, like her incessant 4AM calls weren’t enough to suggest that some things had changed.</p><p>Some things had changed but not all of them he realizes suddenly, knowing what he’ll find before he turns to examine the contents of the bag he’d heard her dump out on the counter. “Peanut butter?”</p><p>“She likes it.” She’s frowning at him again, but this time more playfully, less concerned about the things she might remember if she stopped to think about other difficult times.</p><p>“You like it.” He pokes at one of the jars and watches it roll across the island. “You ate it every day for months when—”</p><p>Happier times. He has to stop himself from smiling when her eyes narrow stubbornly. They’ve had this discussion before, the line between life with a toddler, kindergartener, child and Mac’s glee at provoking him blurring, but none of that matters now because she laughs to herself when he sighs and he’s reminded of why he puts up with it, even when he’s just been dragged to the store in the middle of the night to buy three jars of peanut butter, because it might have been years but he’d still do anything to see that smile.</p>
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